A news item about Putin and his latest power grab brought this story back to mind from my days at the legal coalface…

Back in the early 90s the law firm I worked at decided that the way to a golden future was to expand into Europe and Asia. Over a relatively short period we acquired offices throughout Western Europe. Some of the more ambitious felt we couldn’t ignore the newly freed Russia, then enjoying the bizarre experience of an alcoholic Womble for president in the guise of Boris Yeltsin.

One golden rule, which we necessarily broke eventually was that each new office had to be run by an experienced partner – something about ensuring the firm’s culture being embedded but often this seemed to involve finding a way to promote someone who wouldn’t otherwise have made the grade. Me? Cynical? Hmm.

The Moscow posting, however, didn’t require such a one because one of our more eccentric French partners (though to be fair ‘eccentric’ tended to be implied when dealing with French lawyers generally) offered his services.

Herve was a tousled haired, lopsided genial sloth in human form whose somnambulant mannerisms belied a keen eye and a flamboyant wit. He was also something of a computer geek who loved to code.

This posting wasn’t for everyone. It had a whiff of the Dodge City about it. When after a few months the landlord of our carefully selected office asked to meet Herve, the assumption was of someone checking everything was going smoothly. After the pleasntries the conversation stalled so Herve tried to move things on:

Herve: Was there anything else, Mr Stalin?

Stalin: Call me General Secretary, please. I think we should discuss the rent review.

Herve: But Mr St.. Gen Sec. the lease says the rent is fixed for two years.

General Secretary Stalin: You lawyers are such a one with your contracts. You are happy here, yes?

Herve: Indeed, but….

General Secretary Stalin: And you would find it inconvenient to move now you’ve settled in?

Herve: Naturally, but….

Comrade General Secretary (First Class): {withdraws Ivory handled pistol from a Gucci shoulder bag} And despite what the lease says, you really want to pay me more rent, yes?

Herve: What if instead we just left?

Supreme Leader, High Priest And Comrade General Secretary (Pan Galactic Award Winner) Stalin: That might work.

We moved that afternoon, to a spare couple of rooms where JP Morgan hung out.

Naturally management were worried. While staff safety was, of course paramount, a close second was keeping Herve in post on the sure and sound principle that there wasn’t exactly a queue of people wanting to take over. ‘How can we help?’ They asked, meaning ‘In what way can we sugar this pill?’

’Can I road test the new computer system?’

’Really? I’m mean you actually want to try it out?’

It was a win-win. All the latest gizmos and software were despatched east and Herve spent hours trying things out to find the glitches. Because we were in the throes of creating a comprehsive network, all the Russian team were involved, which created its own challenges.

Imagine a team meeting, at 8.30 one cold grubby February in 1993.

Herve: Listen up people. We live in exciting times and on everyone’s desk there is a personal computer on which you can email each other, draft documents, create bills, carry out research…

Igor: You do know this is Moscow and the chances of us having power today are as unlikely as finding a clean sprinter or novel recipe for beetroot?

Herve: Pah! The world is changing… though if you do encounter problems do not reboot but find me first….

Igor: Do nothing until told otherwise?

Herve: Exactly.

Igor: Fine. That’s what made the Soviet Union great.

Herve was happy. Glitches came and he rummaged about in the guts of the software, forming long term friendships with the IT consultants who were delighted they didn’t need to go to Moscow in person.

Roll the calendar forward. It’s June and very warm. Herve is at his desk, frowning at the screen as he tries to untangle some coding corruption. There’s a knock at his office door. He waves the visitor quiet with his free hand – he just needs to finish what he’s doing or he might lose track.

Igor is well trained. He stands by the glass waiting to be permitted entry. Finally Herve looks up. He is curious why Igor seems to be disappearing into a mist and can his face really be turning blue?

Herve hurries to open the door. Smoke is filling the reception behind Igor. Through the haze Herve can see flames lapping around Igor’s Desk.

Herve: Wtf?

He uses the fire extinguisher to prevent a disaster.

Igor gulps down the fresh air that remains in Herve’s office. He waits by Herve’s desk and is both surprised and hurt when his boss excoriates him in four languages.

Igor: But Boss, I am Russian. How can you expect me to show initiative?

We weren’t put off but such setbacks. They were speed humps on the road to world domination. After all opening a successful Russian operation is as nothing compared to the spleen shredding delight of merging with the Germans. But that, as they say, is another story…